


Crossroads of the Universe

by KaylaNorail



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Loki's misadventures on Sakaar, Some Humor, Some feels, Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Spoilers, Violence, but then Sakaar is not quite an ethics-friendly environment, more tags to be added later, not necessarily ethical ways of getting by, seems like I can't write a Loki fic without feels sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaylaNorail/pseuds/KaylaNorail
Summary: At first glance, Sakaar doesn't exactly seem like a nice place to live. But Loki decides to try anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ho boy I have no idea what I'm doing here.
> 
> I just really, _really_ wanted to try my hand at the whole "how the heck Loki became a Sakaraan VIP" thing and lo, here I am. To be honest, I have _some_ idea. Some very general idea, that actually came to me _after_ I started writing this—but hey, better late than never, especially that the moment it did, I pretty much went "HECK YES THIS COULD WORK!" Now let's hope I can actually pull it off.
> 
> So I know where it's going, but the path is kind of unclear for now. I'm basically plotting this as I write… which is probably not a smart move.
> 
> Fair warning: I am not good at the whole multichapter thing. Updates may be slow. Painfully slow.
> 
> Okay. Here we go.

Loki was falling. _Again._

The moment he found himself _outside_ he could feel the invisible teeth of the Void bite into him again, ready to rip him apart over and over, just like the last time. Images and noises and _memories_ began to flood his head immediately, barely leaving any room for panicked thoughts of _not again no no not this NOT THIS ANYTHING BUT THIS—_

Another small thought made it past the noise, daring to hope that at least he’d land in a _different place_ this time. But no hope could survive for long in the Void. He felt his magic unravel and he tried to grasp at it frantically, but it slipped through his fingers. Soon blind panic swallowed him completely, leaving him hurtling towards whatever horrors awaited him in the abyss of raw space.

This time, however, the fall turned out to be mercifully shorter.

Of course, time had little meaning in the Void, where seconds could feel like years, months like minutes, and minutes like weeks. He still didn’t really know how long his first fall had lasted and was not at all eager to find out.

And yet, when a loud metallic noise and a wave of pain running through his entire body announced that he crashed into something, he had a feeling it couldn’t have been _that_ long. The very fact he was able to actually _think_ that so soon after landing was quite a hint; his head was not yet that much of a mess as the last time.

He rolled down a slope of some kind—more noise and more pain—until he came to a stop and just lied sprawled there for a moment. He was hurting all over and the ground was of the pointy and uncomfortable variety—it barely even felt like _proper_ ground—but it wasn’t the Void, so he was willing to consider it an improvement.

Although there was still the question of _where._

 _Not_ that _place,_ he thought. There was some mechanical noise in the distance and the air smelled of… many things, mostly smoke and fuel, mixed with a stench of rot, and, rather surprisingly, a tinge of saltwater. It also carried a tinge of some eccentric energy, which somehow felt familiar, but not quite. _That_ place had been dead and silent. Wherever he was now, it was somewhere else.

With a groan, Loki sat up and opened his eyes.

He was surrounded by trash. Loads and loads of it, more than he’d ever seen in his entire life. It stretched in every direction, forming small hills and islands in a grimy sea. Disgusted, Loki stood up and brushed himself down—and then he looked up.

There was a portal in the sky, just above him. Not like the one he’d created years ago in New York, not sustained by anything external, nor harnessed, just… being there, existing on its own.

And another one a bit farther. And then one more, and yet another, and another, and—

The sky was full of holes, of passages big and small, which, Loki surmised, all led to different places.

It explained the energy, or rather _energies_ in the air. They were similar to what Loki had felt every time he used the Bifrost or one of his secret passages, but here they were more erratic, not bound to a place or by a device. They flowed through the air in multitudes of currents of various strengths and directions, wild, free, and probably not as easily controllable as the kinds he was familiar with.

That also explained the abundance of garbage, as Loki could see some of the wormholes spit out things, some small an indistinguishable, and some larger, like about a half of a spaceship that just fell out of a portal on the other side of the small bay he was standing at.

One portal stood out, though, and when Loki saw it, he couldn’t help but stare in anxious awe. While other passages were mere punctures in the fabric of space, that one was a gaping wound, raw and bleeding, like a storm of crimson fire surrounded by a wreath of dark clouds.

Eventually, Loki looked away. He wouldn’t learn much about the wormhole from just staring, apart from the fact that it was most likely wiser to venture in the exact opposite direction.

He carefully climbed the nearest trash pile, which threatened to crumble under his feet, and as he reached the summit, he saw some kind of a city in the distance, its tall buildings marring the horizon. One tower, located approximately in the center of it, dwarfed them all.

 _Civilization._ He breathed a sigh of relief, even though he didn’t yet know _what kind_ of civilization it could be. Probably not anything too sophisticated, if his nearest surroundings were any indication. He set his expectations rather low, while bearing in mind that any kind of a city was probably still better than just being stranded in a gigantic trash heap.

Loki slid down the pile and started his walk, knowing it would take him as while to get to the city. He could use the time to try and come up with a new plan, perhaps.

Not that he really had had any previous plan. Since Thor’s return, he’d been thinking on his feet, and while he regarded himself to be quite good at that, there was only so much he could manage with new variables piling up pretty much with every minute. First he got exposed, then Odin wasn’t where he was supposed to be, then Odin just _died,_ then Loki had a _sister,_ and then she threw him back into the Void and—

Loki stopped in his tracks, feeling a pang in his chest.

He had lost _everything._

Even if he found a way out of… whatever this place was, he could not return to Asgard. Being exposed had complicated things enough, but had not necessarily meant certain death, whereas in the newest circumstances…

Hela had probably reached Asgard already and if it wasn’t hers yet, it was just a matter of time. Either she would invoke her right to the throne as Odin’s firstborn and get what she wanted right away, or she’d just slaughter everyone who opposed her—Loki had little doubt she’d be capable of it, considering her spectacularly terrifying display of power. No one should have been able to destroy Mjolnir, let alone that easily. It had been supposed to be one of the most powerful weapons in the Nine Realms, a tool without equal, and she just—

_Thor._

Another pang came, this time stronger. Loki took a shuddering breath.

Thor was probably dead.

No. That wasn’t even just a possibility. Thor _was_ dead. He wouldn’t have survived his encounter with Hela. She wouldn’t have let him live.

But then, neither should Loki have expected her to let _him_ live, and yet here he was, if only by accident.

He looked back at the portal he arrived by, almost hopefully, but what fell though was only some more junk. Not sure what he’d been expecting, Loki sighed and continued his journey.

It should not hurt so much. They hadn't parted on the best of terms—they hadn’t been on the best of terms for quite a while now. Had it not been for Hela’s unexpected arrival, they’d most likely have come to blows. And yet…

Thor was— _had been_ the only family he had left.

Suddenly, their faces popped up in his head. He saw Frigga as he had told her she was not his Mother, even though they both knew better. He saw Odin, using his last words say that he loved his sons, _both_ of them, despite everything, despite the fact he had every right to say something else. He saw Thor, telling Loki that he wished he could trust him, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

Now he was utterly alone, with no one to come back to and no one to come back to him.

Loki blinked, feeling an annoyed stinging in his eyes, and picked up the pace. He had to let that go. He had been alone before and learned how to live with it, this time it wouldn’t be different— _shouldn’t_ be. There were other things for him to worry about—like staying away from the Mad Titan.

Not that Thanos seemed to be in much of a hurry to get him or the Tesseract. In the three years Loki spent posing as Odin, he kept monitoring the Nine Realms regularly in search of any signs of the Titan’s activity, only to find nothing. Eventually, it turned from a daily ritual of dread into a mildly unsettling routine that in time, with each report yielding no worrying findings, turned out to be almost… calming. So calming that at some point he stopped worrying altogether, even though he still kept some plans up his sleeve in case Thanos _did_ arrive.

Most of those plans involved getting far, far away from Asgard as quickly as possible, but they were plans nevertheless.

Loki briefly wondered what would happen if Thanos decided to go to Asgard in the near future, only to be greeted by Hela. If those two joined forces, they could forge a horrifying alliance indeed: the Suitor of Death and the Goddess of Death, fighting side by side, drowning the universe in blood…

On the other hand… no they, wouldn’t. Hela wanted to rule everything and everyone. Thanos wanted to kill everything and everyone. That posed a certain conflict of interests.

As far as Loki was concerned, the two could do the universe a favor and just kill each other.

A sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Loki whirled around, summoning daggers into his hands; to his left, there were three figures standing, all clad in dull-colored rags. Two of them wore mismatched helmets completely hiding their visages, while one seemed to have his face covered in flaking red paint. All of them were armed, the masked ones with large guns strapped to their backs, while the last one was holding a crossbow, not yet pointing at Loki, but already loaded.

Loki tensed, planting his feet more firmly. He didn’t feel like fighting just yet—the vertigo left by the fall and the pain from the crash-landing didn’t go away completely, and his magic was still frayed at the edges. He’d prefer to resolve it without resorting to something as tiring as violence, but if they became hostile, he _would_ make them regret it for the rest of their lives—the whole thirty seconds or so.

“New arrival, huh?” the one with the painted face said, smiling a little too friendly. “It’s not wise to roam the Wastes alone.”

“It’s also not wise to threaten me,” Loki replied.

“Oh, I was not. But speaking of which, how about we skip the whole threatening part and you just surrender? That would make things easier for all of us.”

A smirk tugged at Loki’s lips. “I have a counter-offer. _You_ surrender and maybe I will let you walk away on your own feet.”

Painted-Face and two of his masked companions chuckled. The third, tallest one, only made an annoyed huff.

“Waste of time and effort,” he muttered in a low, growly voice. “Look at him. He’s too skinny. Wouldn’t last a minute in the arena. We’d be lucky if we got one’s meal worth of units for him.”

 _Arena?_ Loki’s brow twitched. So this place apparently had blood sports and slavery. His already low expectations just dropped significantly.

“Then we keep him,” the third one squeaked. “I could use some fresh meat. I’m sick of that canned stuff.”

Loki’s expectations just hit the rock bottom and drilled a hole in it.

“He’s barely enough for the three of us!” the tall one complained.

“He won’t be if you don’t get too greedy again, Dhook,” Squeaky pointed out.

_Oh Norns, this can’t be real._

“Anyway,” Painted-Face turned to Loki again, just as he thought he might simply walk away and leave them squabbling, “we, uh, appreciate you offer, but you do realize it’s three on one, right?” He gave Loki a pitiful look.

“Yes. Three of you versus one of _me._ ” Loki bared his teeth in a vicious smile, magic ready at the tips of his fingers. “Should be easy enough.”

Painted-Face seemed to hesitate just for a second, before quickly raising his crossbow and shooting. He wasn’t quick enough; Loki ducked and let the spell loose, conjuring two images of himself. As he expected, two of his opponents immediately attacked his illusions, trying to shoot them. As he _didn’t_ expect, the one called Dhook just rushed towards his real self, with his gun raised like a club. Loki sidestepped, avoiding the blow, and caught a glimpse of unarmored skin beneath the rags. He flung a dagger at Dhook before the latter managed to lift his weapon again; the blade sank between Dhook’s ribs.

The thud of their comrade’s body hitting the ground drew the other two’s attention. Squeaky turned around just in time for Loki’s second dagger to hit him in the shoulder; he dropped his weapon and scampered off, shrieking intelligibly. Loki didn’t bother to pursue him, instead magicking both of his daggers back into his hands and facing the last remaining foe.

Painted-Face had just managed to reload his crossbow—quite an accomplishment, seeing as his hands were shaking badly—and took the shot. With a well-timed wave of his hand and one flick of his finger, Loki deflected the bolt with a forcefield.

“Easy indeed,” he said, relishing in the fear he saw in Painted-Face’s eyes. For a moment, the man just stared, only to suddenly throw his crossbow to the ground, unsheathe a knife from somewhere within the folds of his ragged robe, and with something between a battle cry and a fearful yelp, lunge at Loki.

Only slightly fazed by this apparent display of panicked madness, Loki dodged the strike and didn’t give Painted-Face a chance to perform a second one, swiftly plunging a dagger into the side of his neck.

As the body crumpled to the ground, Loki rested his hands on his knees, panting. Getting into a fight so soon certainly hadn’t been the best idea—it hadn’t even been a particularly challenging one, and he already felt tired. He looked up; the city was still a fair bit of distance away. A few options came to his mind.

He could try finding a tear in space—he was sure that wouldn’t pose much of a problem here—and turn it into a shortcut, but with the all the unstable energies around, he’d risk being flung at the other side of the universe instead of just jumping a few miles away.

He could see some ships in the sky, some of them apparently landing on or taking off somewhere in the trash field. He could hijack one and just fly to the city, or maybe just straight through one of the wormholes—but he had no idea where it would take him. Assuming the ship would be sturdy enough to withstand the trip, he’d just be lost somewhere else while he needed to recuperate and develop a more substantial plan than “stay alive.”

Not to mention he’d surely have to fight for a ship, and that was precisely what he wanted to avoid.

With a sigh, Loki weaved a illusion over his body, basing his appearance on Dhook with just a few minor tweaks. He kept it simple; it would dissolve when touched, but that way it took less effort to maintain it. Not the safest option still, but at this point nothing he could do really guaranteed safety.

He dismissed his daggers and picked up Squeaky’s discarded gun, examining it. A rigged energy blaster with some charge remaining, still functional, easy to handle. He flung it over his shoulder and resumed his walk towards the city, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it. However, seeing how his day was going so far, he knew he should prepare for more things going awry, especially here.

A planet of trash, slavers, people-eaters, and lunatics. Perhaps this wasn’t the worst place he could’ve ended up in, but it surely was a close second.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'M SORRYYYYYY I know I said I'm a slow writer, but I really wanted to get this chapter done sooner, I don't know how many times I've sat down and said to myself "Alright, I'm getting it done today!" and then... I sort of... didn't... *burrows in sand*
> 
> And I cannot even promise you that was the longest break between chapters. Lesson learned, the next time I'll have the crazy idea of going multichapter, I'll write it first and publish later, darnit.
> 
> Second of all, wow. I seriously did not expect such a response? Especially not for the first chapter where nothing really happens?? And yet???
> 
> Thank you all! I'm really touched! ;w; Boy, I hope you won't be disappointed by what follows or by my snail's pace... Especially that ch2 is pretty much talking and thinking and exposition. But trust me, I want to get to the interesting part too. Let's hope I will. Eventually. And that it will turn out to actually be interesting.

It seemed that fate decided to put making Loki’s life harder on hold, as he managed to reach the city without much trouble in about an hour of a rather uneventful march. He couldn’t possibly be happier about this.

He had been on edge the whole time and had seen other suspicious groups of people on his way, but mostly from afar, minding their own business, whatever it might be. One such group seemed to be rummaging through a crashed ship, another was chasing around some big, horned, and very loud beast. Some people waited under the wormholes, evidently preparing to catch any valuable thing that might fall through. Loki didn’t stay to observe any of them; as long as they stayed away from him, they didn’t matter.

Only one group, a crew of about seven people, who all appeared to be either completely drunk or doing their best to be, made any kind of contact with him, calling out for him to join them. Loki ignored them as well, although he had to admit that a drink sounded like a nice idea, if not exactly a smart one.

The city did not have a wall or any other kind of designated boundary—at one point the buildings just started, with smaller blocky huts at the edges and increasingly taller structures sprawling towards the center. There were no guards keeping people in or out of the city; everyone just seemed to come and go as they please, and nobody really paid attention whether they brought weapons or not. Loki pressed onwards, soon finding himself a part of a crowd so diverse he decided to shed his illusion—he wouldn’t stand out much when hardly anybody looked like each other anyway. He also magicked his scavenged blaster away; the more crowded passages he had to get through, the more cumbersome it felt. He could always summon it back if need be.

He had expected the city to have a cosmopolitan atmosphere, considering all those portals in the sky, but the further he went, the more overwhelming he found it. It was unlike any other place he’d ever visited; people of all shapes and races walked past him, brightly-colored buildings either scraped for the sky or stood huddled by their taller neighbors, no less vivid than them, sounds seemed to pour out of every direction. But it wasn’t total chaos, not yet. At first glance there seemed to be little to no logic in this place, barely and trace of conscious design and careful planning, but at the second… The colors were not just random splashes of paint, but a fragmented rainbow, whose shards settled down on the buildings mostly in patterns of matching hues as if attracted by magnets. And while Loki had yet to figure out the streets’ layout, he had to admit that the distribution of colors could help with finding one’s way through the city. The outskirts were mostly grey and brown, then green followed, and he spotted the first traces of blue. From what he could see of the center, most of the buildings there seemed to be red.

Not everything was nice and colorful, though. There were beggars in the streets, especially in the outskirts, but there was no lack of them further in too, and he passed by three of four brawls that no one seemed eager to break up, but quite a few bystanders cheered for one side of the fight or another, usually the winning one.

But that still didn’t help him in understanding _what_ exactly this place was. Loki thought he _should_ know the name of this realm, possibly buried somewhere deep in his memory. He should’ve found a mention of a place filled with passages to other worlds during his studies on world-walking, although he was focusing on the Realms of Yggdrasil, deeming it sufficient at the time and safer, while choosing to leave what lay outside for later, which didn’t manage to come before he fell into the Void.

He kept going past shops, bars, gambling dens, pleasure houses, dancing halls, and other places the purpose of he didn’t recognize, not sure what he was looking for. The tower in the center still managed to grab his attention from time to time, but he kept telling himself _not now._ One day, perhaps, once he knew more about where he was.

The tower _did_ have a general look of a place he should try to get into eventually, though.

He shook his head as it stole yet another glance from him. The sun was already hanging low in the sky. It was time to stop wandering aimlessly through the streets and finally _sit down_ and try to obtain some information about this world. Food also seemed like a good idea. So did lodging. He wasn’t going to spend the night on the streets, after all.

He was virtually out of money or anything valuable—that he would part with—but that was not going to be a problem for much longer. A few minutes of wading through the crowd and several slights of hands later, Loki gathered about two handfuls of unit chips, and even one card, which he ultimately decided to throw away. The problem with non-analog money was that every transaction could be tracked back to him if the card’s theft was reported, and he didn’t feel like getting in conflict with the local authorities or changing his appearance every time he paid for something right now.

The thought that not so long ago he’d been the King of Asgard—not quite a legitimate one, but still a _king_ —and now he was resorting to petty thievery in the streets stung him a bit, but he swatted it away. That was just making do, and he wouldn’t settle for it. Surely he’d find some other, less demeaning way of obtaining any comforts he wanted soon enough.

His gaze drifted towards the tower once more.

_Not. Now._

He walked a few more steps and went into the second bar he stumbled upon—the first one looked a bit too sleazy for his tastes and was, for some reason, full of pink smoke. This one perhaps wasn’t the most luxurious place he ever chose to dine in, but it was at least clean, if a bit dark. There were only a couple of patrons inside: two young women with slightly feline features, talking to each other in hushed but excited voices, and a bulky figure almost entirely clad in metal, their faceplate revealing only his— or maybe her?— _their_ wide mouth and three sullen eyes, currently fixed on what appeared to be a milkshake they were slowly drinking through a straw.

Behind the counter there was a stocky woman with skin the color of dull lead and a braid of silvery hair. She seemed to be busy writing something on a piece of paper she held, but she noticed him the moment he sat down, and tucked her pencil behind her ear, putting the paper in her pocket.

“Hello there,” she said, trying to sound enthusiastic, but not really succeeding, “welcome to Ballistic Bottles, I’m Chimei, what can I do for you?”

Loki couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Ballistic… Bottles?”

Chimei frowned. “Dang. This one’s not good too?” She sighed, pulled out the paper, crossed something out, and put it back in her pocket. “Anyway. Welcome to my place. What would you like?”

“Depends on what you have.”

“Well, press the button and find out.”

“What bu—ah.” Here it was, small and blue, embedded into the counter’s wooden surface. He did as Chimei suggested and a small hologram flickered into life in front of Loki’s face.

“Swipe down to read the contents, swipe left or right to change language,” Chimei said. “We’ve got Andromeda Creole, Common Kree, High Shi’ar, Low Shi’ar, Nomadic Xixix, and Kymellian. We even tried doing a version in Kuruk color language, but it was just too dang hard to make it work properly. One shade of green too dark and suddenly you’re offending someone’s grandmother instead of presenting your choice of beverages. Not worth the fuss, really.”

Loki skimmed the menu and while he could read this writing system, it didn’t tell him much. He didn’t recognize most of the exotic names and ultimately gave up on trying to guess what could hide behind them. At least whoever had prepared the list included little footnotes about what might or might not be poisonous to certain species, and while ‘Asgardian’—or ‘Jotun,’ for that matter—didn’t figure next to anything, Loki wasn’t sure if that meant everything was safe for him to eat, or if they just didn’t know.

“Need more help here?” Chimei said, staring at him through the hologram.

“I—I think I’ll take number fifteen,” Loki said, turning off the hologram. He had no idea what exactly number fifteen was, but it had the fewest footnotes, so it was probably the safest choice.

 “Uh-huh.” She gave him an oddly knowing look. “Payment’s up front, by the way.”

Loki handed Chimei a couple of unit chips; she turned to the door behind her, opened it only to yell “ _Number fifteen!_ ” and got back to Loki. “Anything to drink?”

“Just water,” he muttered, even though the contents of colorful bottles on the shelf behind the counter glimmered temptingly. Maybe he’d have some later, once he found a place to stay.

“Here you go.” She poured him a glass. “On the house. So, what’s your story?”

“Excuse me?”

“How did you end up here? I assume it was quite recently? You’re not the first one to come here and ask for a fifteen. Also, you got that… _look._ ”

“ _What_ look?”

“Well, it’s just—you know it when you see it, if you meet enough newcomers. I don’t know. You look kinda… lost, I think?”

 _Lost._ Loki barely resisted the urge to scoff and took a sip of his water—carefully, testing it for anything harmful, just in case. How well that word fit him, in more ways than one. If it was so obvious—and, apparently, commonplace—he guessed there was not much of a point in trying to skirt the issue and decided to just ask a straightforward question. “What _is_ this place?”

“ _Really_ quite recently, I see.” Chimei smiled, leaning on the counter. “Welcome to Sakaar.”

Loki raised his brows. _Sakaar._ He knew that name, _of course_ he knew it, and now that he heard it, he was slightly angry at himself for not arriving at this conclusion on his own.

However, he had to admit he had only a basic knowledge of the planet, but it all instantly came back to him once he had the name. The fourth object in its system and the only one to have developed any kind of life, virtually unable to reach by normal means of space travel due to strong interference courtesy of the tangle of spatiotemporal energies apparently emitted by the system’s star—an ancient celestial body, even by cosmic standards. That left a network of portals scattered across the universe as the only relatively safe way in.

How Loki wished now he had read more on the subject before returning to his research on Yggdrasil. It seemed he couldn’t just delay learning things, or else he’d have to get to know them from experience when he least expected it.

“Okay, answer for an answer,” Chimei said, a bit impatient. “Your turn.”

Loki squinted at her. “I don’t remember agreeing to any such trade.”

Chimei just shrugged. “Fine, suit yourself. But it’s not like I want to know your whole life story, nasty details and all that. Just the arrival. Some people have pretty funny arrival stories. There once was this Makluan fellow—”

“I would not describe my story as ‘funny.’” Loki’s voice came out sharper than he intended. For a brief moment, it all came back: Hela shattering Mjolnir, pursuing them through the Bifrost beam, forcing him _outside—_

A sudden chill spread through him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a shuddering sigh. Hoping Chimei didn’t notice anything off about him, he took a large gulp of water.

But apparently Chimei did notice. “That bad?” She sounded less curious now, and there was even a tinge of sympathy in her voice. “Well, some people have it rough… Not gonna press you if you don’t want to talk about, but if you change your mind—”

“ _Fifteen’s ready!_ ” someone roared behind the door; Loki jumped in his seat and almost crushed his glass.

“Just a sec.” Chimei rushed through the door and returned with a plate full of small chunks of meat with some green sauce and pepper-like purple vegetables.

“Eat up, kid.” She put the plate in front of him, and before Loki could bark at her that he was _not a kid_ —he could bet he was much older than her—Chimei gave him a little pat on the shoulder and added with a warm smile, “Hope it makes you feel a bit better.”

The remark died on his tongue. Under any other circumstances, he’d call her condescending and demand some respect, but… not today. Not when everything had been beyond terrible so far; he wasn’t going to spit into a kind face to make it even worse. He was too drained to start a fight when there was hardly anything to win from it.

 _And what have I done to earn her respect, anyway,_ he thought bitterly despite himself. Everything he’d once been was gone, everything he’d once earned did not matter anymore. He should be glad she was being nice to him for no reason at all. Although maybe the fact he’d paid her money and was probably a sorry sight was enough of a reason for her.

He muttered a quick “thank you” and tentatively tried the dish. It turned out to taste quite good, maybe a little too sweet than he’d expected.

Chimei didn’t bother him while he ate. She walked over to the metal-clad figure, called them ‘Bruca’ and asked them how their pet fish were doing, but Bruca only grunted in response and, judging by the sounds, was determined to drink every last drop of their milkshake or die trying. Chimei quickly gave up and returned behind the counter, taking out the paper from her pocket and scribbling on it. The two cat-women left shortly thereafter, one of them clicking her tongue at Loki before leaving. He had no idea whether she was trying to threaten or seduce him, but since she didn’t do anything else, he ignored her.

He used the quiet moment to try and wrap his head around the place and his current situation, but two things got in his way. One: he still needed to know more before he decided how to proceed. Two: he was too tired to think, and he was more aware of this than before, now that he’d finally sat down and the threat of getting either captured or killed and eaten was no longer here to keep his senses sharp—

He was about to take the next bite when he froze, an awful suspicion rising in his head, making him feel sick.

 _Damn. I should have asked_ before _I started eating._

“Uh—Lady Chimei?”

She looked up, eyebrows raised. “Wow. ‘Lady?’ Really? I think that’s a first. But there’s no need for that, you can just call me by my name, everyone does that. Well, everybody who knows me, at least. What’s the matter?”

“This meat, it’s not—” He hesitated, trying to come up with the least-awkward way of phrasing the question. “It is _animal meat,_ right?”

Chimei cocked her head in confusion. “Er—what other kind could it possibly be?” she asked after a brief pause.

So his food probably _hadn’t_ used to be sentient. The sickening sensation washed away instantly. “Never mind.” Relieved, Loki went back to eating.

“And what if I _do_ mind?” Chimei said with a faint note of anger. “What are you implying? Does it taste awful or what? Feedback’s _appreciated._ ” She stopped at that, but her fiery gaze was clearly saying ‘ _insult our cooking skills and I’ll stab you in the eye._ ’

Loki sighed. He wouldn’t have cared much for having accidentally offending her if not for the fact he just wanted to finish his meal in peace. “No, it’s fine. I just—the first people I encountered on this planet considered _me_ food, so I simply… preferred to ask. Just in case.”

“Come on!” she huffed. “It’s not on in the city, that’s pretty much only a thing in the Wastes and—wait a second.” She shot him an incredulous look. “So you—you made it through the Wastes? Wow. Now that’s a feat. Not many do. And here I thought you just landed near the city.”

Loki let out a small chuckle. It was nice to know that at least _one_ thing went better than it could have. And he was starting to notice a pattern.

“It would seem that surviving the non-survivable has become… a habit of mine recently,” he said, only half-joking. Swallowing the last bite of food, Loki glanced at the door. He should be leaving soon if he wanted to find lodgings before nightfall, but just getting of the barstool seemed like such a chore right now. Now, with his stomach full, he was beginning to feel not just tired, but outright drowsy.

“Anything else for you?” Chimei asked, taking his empty glass and plate.

“No— _yes,_ actually. Do you know of any place I could stay in for the time being?” Loki asked.

“Well, I bet you could find some vacant blocks in the outskirts, those downtown seem to be all taken already and people are literally killing each other for a spot to sit on, so—”

Loki glared at her. “Do I look like a vagrant?”

She eyed him, making a long ‘hmmm’ noise, and he remembered that he _had_ been spat out by the Void onto a pile of garbage a short time ago.

“Never mind, don’t answer that,” Loki muttered. “I have money. I can pay for accommodation. Just point me towards it.”

“Let me think…” She tapped her fingers on the counter. “I don’t really know, Sakaar is not really a touristy place, most visitors just stay on their ships… There’s Peldra’s Bunkhouse, it’s cheap, but they steal people’s stuff there, sometimes organs included, so yeah, I don’t recommend that, unless you have an extra pancreas to spare. The Nice View still hasn’t got rid of that bug infestation… The Honey Hut burned down again a month ago…” She hesitated a little. “You know what? I may have a spare room. It’s been unoccupied since Grandpa Yorkinn died and we mostly used it to put things there. You know, too useless to keep at hand, but too useful to throw away. Nothing posh, but I won’t charge much. What do you say?”

The vague description didn’t sound too appealing, but it was certainly better than just squatting in some shabby place, or staying anywhere else she mentioned. He thought about stealing some more money and trying to find something better suited to his tastes—he refused to believe there wasn’t such a place in the whole city—but that sounded too tiresome right now. He just wanted a warm bed and about half a day of sleep. For the first night, at least, he could stay here.

“Fine,” he said. “I accept your offer.”

She grinned at him “Alright! Great! So, do you want to check in now or…?”

“If that’s not a problem, yes.”

“Right. Follow me. Oh, and by the way—what’s your name? I don’t think you introduced yourself.”

He was about to give her a fake name—a habit he’d acquired in the past few years, spent mostly in the guise of Odin, or, on a rare occasion, some inconspicuous Asgardian when he felt like visiting some place in the city without drawing attention—when he realized he no longer had to. He wasn’t playing dead anymore. On Sakaar, he was just another face in the crowd, most likely unknown to anyone, and with all his ties to Asgard severed for good—something in his chest stung a little when he thought of it—his name meant absolutely nothing.

So maybe he should just discard it altogether and choose something new. Perhaps something that he thought would fit him better.

Only that _nothing_ would fit him better. A new name would be little more than a moniker. He was _Loki,_ had always been. No matter what his blood was, no matter where he was from or where he was going to, no matter what had been ever taken from him, the name was engraved on his soul, and now, when he could finally speak it out loud without fear of being locked away or executed, he wasn’t going to just part with it. He had missed being himself.

And if it really meant nothing now—well, all the better. He could give it a new meaning, untainted by past mistakes and unburdened by old problems. Now _that_ was a thought worth holding on to.

“I am Loki,” he said and immediately some of his foul mood ebbed away. It felt so good to say that. So liberating, so _right,_ after those several years of hiding behind someone else’s face.

“Nice to meet you. Hey, Bruca!” Chimei waved at the metal-clad patron. “Watch the place for a second, will you?”

Bruca made a low growl.

“Thanks! Okay then, Loki, let’s go.”

He walked behind the counter and she led him through the door to a brightly-lit, slightly messy kitchen. There was a tall man covered in short bluish fur, with two curved horns jutting from his forehead, the left one apparently broken in half, standing by the sink and washing the dishes. As soon as Loki and Chimei entered, he looked up and shot Loki a rather stormy look.

“Meet my husband, Jolmendarianskeezzaflothpole,” Chimei said. “Or just ‘Jo’ for friends. Jo, darling, this is Loki.” She put the dishes in the sink and gave her husband a pat on his arm. “He’ll be renting Grandpa’s room for a while.”

Unsure if there was some gesture he was supposed to make, Loki stayed on the safe side and just gave the man a small nod. “Greetings, Jo.”

“You’re not my friend,” Jolmendarianskeezzaflothpole huffed and got back to work.

“Yeah, he’s like that. Come on.” They went through another door, leading to a staircase. “Jo’s got a heart of gold, really, you’ll see when you get to know him better.”

 _I am not sure if I want to,_ Loki thought, but kept it to himself.

Upstairs, Chimei showed him the nearest door. “Your room. Fair warning, it’s a bit dusty.”

It was more than just a bit dusty. It was also quite cramped, full of metal boxes, a shelf stacked with various trinkets of unknown use, and a lone bed in the corner. Loki fought the urge to wince.

_It’s just one night. Come on. This is not the worst I have slept in._

Also, the sight of the bed immediately made his eyelids heavier.

“Changed your mind?” Chimei asked a little anxiously.

“No, no, I’m staying.”

She extended her hand to him and for a second he thought it was to shake it, but then she said, “Payment’s still up front.”

Loki paid her for one night—she really didn’t charge much—and she headed back down, wishing him goodnight and saying that the bathroom was on the left, he could find a towel in one of the boxes if we wanted one, and the room on the right—her and Jo’s—was off limits. When she closed the door behind her, Loki walked up to the window. He could see the street from here, almost as crowded as it had been before, and almost as bright, only that the light of the fading sun had been already replaced by the artificial glow of the city, adding even more color to the landscape.

And this was where he would start anew—a world of infinite peoples, infinite paths, infinite possibilities. Maybe, despite all its drawbacks, Sakaar was actually a _perfect_ place for a new beginning. From here, he could go anywhere, follow whatever path he wanted, without ever looking back again.

The moment Loki thought that, he looked back.

He suddenly felt so _hollow,_ and oddly enough, that hollowness felt heavy. Tears welled up in his eyes and this time he didn’t even bother to blink them away. He needed to let the pain out before he moved on, to mourn, if only for a moment.

First Frigga. Then Odin. Then, finally, Thor. They had mourned him first, now he was the only one left. He’d appreciate the irony of that if only it didn’t feel so utterly _wrong._

 _This was your doing,_ Thor’s voice echoed in his head, each word like a thorn digging into Loki’s skin.

Not that there was anything he could do about it now. No one would even come and hold him responsible anymore.

Loki’s throat closed up, and he decided it was time to end it. The longer he dwelled on it, the longer it would hold him back, drag him down towards what could only be his doom. There was nothing to be gained from wallowing in guilt he could never wash away.

He knelt on the floor by the bed, facing the window, and took a deep breath. He knew the words of the parting prayer, had memorized them centuries ago. Had even already used them, when he’d returned from Svartalfheim and taken Odin’s place, to properly say his farewell to his Mother.

It had not been easy back then and it didn’t seem it would be much easier this time.

“Thor… Odin…” he started tentatively; he could swear his mouth hadn’t felt so dry just a few seconds before. “I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla—”

He might’ve as well stabbed himself in the heart with that word. At some point, he’d began doubting if he could ever reach Valhalla. Then he’d learned _what_ he was and that doubt turned into an awful certainty.

Surely there could be no place for _monsters_ in Valhalla. Which meant he would never see his family again. Not in this life and not in the next.

Loki swallowed hard, struggling to continue. “Nor shall we mourn, but—but rejoice for those, who—”

He saw them for a brief moment—Frigga welcoming Thor and Odin at the gates of Valhalla, the three of them crying tears of joy and embracing each other, an image of perfect happiness. An image he would never be a part of.

“—who have died a glorious death,” he finished in one breath before choking down a sob. He bent down, hiding his face in his hands, and felt himself shaking.

He gave himself a moment to calm down, breathing in and out, before he straightened up and climbed into the bed. It felt nothing like the luxurious furs of Asgard, but it was comfortable and soft, and right now it was enough to dull his senses and soothe his tired body and mind.

“Loki is dead,” he murmured to the ceiling. “Long live Loki.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats nervously*
> 
> Yyyyyyeeeeeaaaah, it took me even longer. In my defence, though, December is not the best time to get anything substantial done besides Christmas cleaning. Or you know, scratch that, Christmas cleaning included.
> 
> The fact that my computer went out of commission for a few days also did not help, especially that it was during the final stretch of writing this chapter.
> 
> But hey, at least _something_ actually starts happening in this chapter. The plot maybe doesn't thicken, but starts taking shape. And I'm really, really sorry for the long wait (again, darnit). I hope it was at least worth it? A bit? Maybe?
> 
> Also, since 2018 is still pretty new, Happy New Year, everyone! :D

Loki didn’t sleep well.

In his dreams, Hela shattered Mjolnir and pushed him off a cliff into a dark abyss. Thanos and his minions were waiting at the bottom, and they tore him to pieces—and yet he was still whole as he felt he was falling again. Then, somehow, he found himself in front of a gate and he could see _them_ behind it, Thor, Frigga and Odin, sitting at a table laden with food and drink. They were feasting and laughing and singing, while he stood at the gate, calling out to them and sensing _something_ prowl in the darkness surrounding him. They did not even spare him a glance.

The moment the shadows lunged at him, Loki’s eyes shot open.

Relief came first. Then confusion. Then he remembered where he was and why and didn’t know how to feel about it.

Subdued light was pouring into his room through the window. The street outside was noisy with life, particularly one loud and obnoxious song somebody apparently decided worthy of sharing with the whole neighborhood. Or maybe they just really hated other people.

In any case, more sleep in such conditions was unlikely. Maybe it was actually a good thing, considering what Loki had dreamed of.

He stayed in bed, though. Taking a deep breath, he examined his magic and was relieved to see that the damage done by the Void was almost done healing. If he didn’t overexert himself, he should be completely fine by the next time he went to sleep—assuming that a day on Sakaar was more or less like a day on most of the Nine Realms. And assuming it wasn’t terribly late already.

Loki got up, stretching. He found twelve lilac towels in the nearest box, picked two, and went to the bathroom. A quick shower washed off all of the remaining fatigue and when he returned to his room, rubbing his hair with one towel to get rid of the water still clinging to his hair, he felt almost enthusiastic to go out and explore. Still, he had to make some preparation first.

He decided to check what was left in his hold, and it dampened his mood a little. Normally, he had a variety of armors, weapons, books, and various paraphernalia, magical or not, at his disposal, ready to be summoned with a flick of his hand. But _of course_ he’d thought it was high time to empty it, stuffing everything into his old chambers—which no one but him visited anymore, making it the safest place for that—and see what he could ditch and what was worth keeping merely a day before Thor came back—

Loki pushed the thought of Thor and _no longer home_ away, concentrating on the contents of his hold. He hadn’t finished putting things back here, mistakenly thinking he had lots of time to take care of it, not that he needed them at that moment. As a result, apart from the blaster he’d obtained yesterday, all he had left now were two daggers, two spare sets of clothes, neither of them any good for serious combat, one of his horned helmets—more of a headdress, as it left most of his head uncovered and wasn’t probably very practical—a book on dwarven methods of enchanting, a bottle of three-hundred-years old liqueur from Alfheim, and, for some reason, a hairbrush. Not the best equipment to start a new life with. The overwhelming sense of loss hit him again.

 _Look at the bright side: less burden,_ he tried to convince himself, with meager results.

The hairbrush did come in handy, however, as he decided to make himself slightly more presentable. He then reapplied the returning charms to his daggers—the old ones were quite worn out at this point—and put new ones on everything else. He had too little to afford losing anything now, hairbrush included.

Loki also counted his money. Chimei indeed had not taken much; he could afford two more nights here and still have something left, but sooner or later he’d need more, be it for a better place to stay, a passage off-world, or whatever else he might need.

There was just _so much_ to be done he wasn’t sure where to begin.

Breakfast. Breakfast sounded like a good start.

He walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Jolmendarianskeezzaflothpole was chopping some vegetables at a table and humming to himself, but he stopped when he saw Loki. He didn’t seem any friendlier than the last time.

“Good day,” Loki said apprehensively, trying to ease the sudden tension.

Jolmendarianskeezzaflothpole grunted. “Get out. You’re a disruptive presence.”

Somewhat not really surprised, Loki left the kitchen without a word and walked into the bar. The first thing he noticed was Bruca, still sitting at the exactly the same spot as before and drinking a milkshake. Loki wondered if they’d perhaps stayed like that all night.

Apart from Bruca and him, Chimei was the only one present, standing behind the counter, again focused on her piece of paper.

“Good day, Chimei,” Loki greeted her, walking over to the nearest barstool.

Chimei’s eyes snapped up. “Oh, hi there! How was your night?”

“Quite pleasant, thank you.” Apart from the nightmare she didn’t have to know about. He should probably do something so it wouldn’t occur again.

“Glad to hear that. By the way, what do you think about this—Spirits Shack!” She winced as she said that. “Wait, no, that sounds haunted. And it’s not really a shack. Dang!” She crumpled the paper and threw it somewhere behind her. “One day I’ll nail it. Anyway, I guess you’d like to eat something?”

He turned on the menu, ordered the least-footnoted breakfast option—scrambled eggs of something whose name had too many consonants and too little vowels—and, with Chimei’s recommendation, decided to try some local tea that was apparently only toxic to reptilian species.

“Not sure what else I could recommend you,” she said as she brought him breakfast just a few minutes later. “It could help if you told me what you are. It’s kinda hard to tell when you look like some one-fifth of sapient species out here.”

Loki hesitated, taking a sip of the hot, slightly spicy drink. It was tempting to tell her anything but the truth—to burn that part of the past and simply claim his Asgardian heritage as his only one. He’d spent most of his life in Asgardian skin anyway, eaten what they had, drunk what they had, breathed the same air as they had. He had adapted so much that at this point he likely had more in common with them than with the Jotuns.

But a few differences remained, ones that had only started to make sense once he learned the truth about himself. Like how he could manage in the cold better than others, while he fared worse in the hottest days of summer, and how his skin always took more time to heal when burned. There could be more that he was not yet aware of and which could come to light on this new, alien planet, full of things Loki never had to deal with before. It would be nice to have some warnings if he could get them.

Besides, if he’d already made the decision to reclaim his name, he could as well reclaim _that_ too. This wasn’t Asgard anymore, this wasn’t even a part of the Nine Realms. Even the Asgardians themselves had not seemed to be too appalled by his origins, at least since the Dark Elf invasion. It had actually been one member of the Asgardian theatrical troupe to suggest that addition to _The Tragedy of Loki of Asgard,_ much to Loki’s surprise—he had suspected many people had already known of that little detail about his life even before they saw the play, at least since he’d returned from his ill-fated adventure on Earth, but certainly had not expected anyone to take that detail and put it in a play without presenting it as something abominable or, at the very least, troubling.

 _Apparently people can forgive a lot if only you die a heroic death,_ Loki thought.

He suppressed a shudder. He was dangerously close to starting reminiscing again and he needed to cut that short.

 _I’ll tell her. If the Asgardians,_ of all people, _could be fine with it, so can they._

“You could say… I am kind of a hybrid,” he said in the end. Technically, it wasn’t that much of a lie. Maybe it wasn’t even a lie at all, considering he still had no idea who actually had given birth to him—but he wasn’t going to ponder over that now.

To his slight surprise, Chimei smiled at that. “Just like most of the people around here. Me, for example. I’m not even sure which genes exactly I’ve got here. Mommy kept bragging she was part Sovereign, though, said it was where the metallic skin came from. Dad was mostly Ruul, but I’m pretty sure he had some Froma blood in him, he could still do that levitation thing sometimes. Pity I didn’t inherit it from him, could be useful—right, we were talking about you. So, what are you?”

“Asgardian,” Loki said with a certainty that sounded too bold even to him, only to add slightly more warily, “and also… part Jotun.” He forced himself not to grimace; the word still left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

When Chimei suddenly frowned and drew her lips into a tight line, Loki thought briefly that he was too optimistic, but then she brightened and punched the air triumphantly.

“Ah, yes! Now I remember! I mean, a bit vaguely, but hey, I do. We’ve had two or three Asgardian patrons before, and that one Jotun lady who accidentally broke our ceiling lamp. They could eat pretty much everything, save from some very race-specific food. You know, like the stuff the Flb’Dbi eat. Yuck. Anyway, if anyone similar to you and me can eat that, you probably can as well. At worst, you won’t like it. But if you want to be extra sure, stick to Xandarian options. That what most of thet similar-looking races eat. Should be safe for you.”

And that was it. No uneasy questions, no accusations, no change in the way she looked at him, no condemning comments. That definitely counted as good news, in more ways than one. Loki felt as if a great weight was just taken off his shoulders. “Thank you for your help, Chimei.”

“Nah, don’t mention it. I’d be a lousy barkeep if I let a patron of mine get food poisoning.”

Another customer came in and Chimei left Loki to collect the order. Loki, meanwhile, went back to planning, although that was probably saying a bit much. He still didn’t have a starting point besides stepping outside the door. He didn’t even really have any particular direction to go in.

His thoughts went back to the tower. He _certainly_ had to investigate that sooner or later. Everything about it, from its central location to its size, screamed _wealth and power,_ automatically making it a point of interest for him. Perhaps even a possible place of residence—

He stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth. Was he actually considering _staying_ on Sakaar already, without looking for other options first?

But then… why not? As wretched as Sakaar might have seemed at first glance, once he secured a comfortable enough position for himself—which meant as close to the top of the local social ladder as possible—he could make it work. If, judging by Chimei’s reaction—or rather the lack of it—even Jotuns were welcome in this society, integration wouldn’t be an issue. And if he ever wanted to leave, there were countless ways he could choose. It could even prove useful if Thanos did come for him eventually—he would have plenty of possible escape routes available. He just needed to learn more about which portal led where. And about Sakaar in general.

In the end, he decided to start small—take a walk, see things, not look for anything in particular, let whatever would catch his attention lead him. _Not_ the tower, not yet; that was an endeavor he’d save for later, when he was more prepared.

He finished his breakfast and got up, just in time for Chimei to get back to the counter. “Leaving already?” she asked.

“Yes, I thought I might do some sightseeing,” Loki answered.

“Have fun, then. Stay out of trouble, don’t buy anything from Thrik, and watch out for the quartzbeetles in the fish market. Want me to keep the room for you?” She sounded hopeful. “Not that it’s likely there’ll be anyone to take your place, but who knows.”

“Please do,” Loki said after only a second of hesitation. Chimei had been so friendly and helpful so far that it would probably be good to stick around for a bit longer. Perhaps when he got back he could talk with her about what he saw and ask for any details he wasn’t able to figure out by himself.

She looked genuinely pleased by his answer and even if it was in part because of the fact he was paying her, it warmed his heart a little—it had been some time since someone actually seemed to enjoy his company.

“You got it, Loki. I’ll see if I find some time to dust the room a bit. Oh, and by the way, would you like to go see tonight’s fight with me? I could use some company.”

The question took Loki aback a little, but then he remembered about the arena and put two plus two together. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that Chimei apparently was into blood sports or that she wanted him to tag along.

“You… did not strike me as a fan,” he said.

“Hey, let me have some excitement in my life, okay?” Chimei grinned. “Anyway, it’s Newbies Night and Jo doesn’t like those, and Bruca already got some plans, and I just like having some company. I don’t know, it’s more fun this way.”

Not wanting to get on Chimei’s bad side, Loki chose not to voice his opinion on such a form of entertainment, and instead answered, “I shall see if I can make it.”

He had absolutely no intention to. Loki was in no way squeamish, but he had seen enough real-life battles for the staged ones to have little appeal for him. At best, it was boring, and at worst, it was a waste of good soldier material.

“Great!” Chimei’s grin widened. “If you won’t pop in here by then, just meet me at entrance 15-Theta. The event starts at 18.”

“Duly noted.” He made a mental note to find himself a timepiece, even if it wouldn’t be useful for this particular purpose. “See you in the evening, Chimei.”

Loki left the hopefully-soon-to-be-named bar and just went straight ahead. He was in no hurry, so he would just take it slow, following nothing else but his intuition and curiosity—and, as Chimei had advised, he’d do his best to stay out of trouble. Surely that was something he could manage.

 

* * *

 

That was indeed something Loki could manage. For the most part.

He spent most of the day according to his plan, just walking around, exploring, and listening to people. He learned where to get the best food, where not to linger after sunset, where to acquire the most reliable weapons, where to sell things that most people would deem useless, where to find the most skilled mechanics in the city, and much, much more information that could be useful or not. At some point, Loki purchased a notebook and a pen to write things down and revise them later; while he had an excellent memory, the sheer foreignness of new names and concepts was making it difficult to remember them all.

Loki also learned—or rather found nothing to undermine his first impression—that Sakaar was indeed lawless. In a few hours, he witnessed at least eight more brawls, and while he started to notice small groups of people who appeared to be armored guards, they did nothing to stop anything, even joining the cheering crowds sometimes. He also saw a robbery, but the angry lizardman who lost his bag managed to catch the thief himself and beat him to a pulp, again to no reaction from anyone except a group of bystanders who proceeded to place bets and then started their own brawl when the losers decided they wouldn’t pay up after all. Loki didn’t stay to see the result.

The violence in the streets was not everything. When Loki found the local equivalent of a herbalist and asked for some dream suppressants, he was also offered a wide range of drugs, and while he had never seen most of them before, the majority of the ones he did know were illegal in most parts of the civilized universe. He kindly refused to try any, bought only what he came for, and left the store.

Weapons seemed to be slightly more regulated. While quite a lot of people around were armed, it was usually with blades, guns or blasters, with nothing heavier than that in sight. He only managed to catch a bit of a hushed conversation between a group of rather shadowy individuals discussing rocket launchers and plasma bombs, who suddenly switched subjects to horticulture once they noticed they might’ve been overheard.

Which meant there was _some_ law on this planet. Not that Loki would bother abiding by it, but it still wouldn’t hurt to know it, even if only to make sure no one would notice when he decided to break it.

There was also much talk about tonight’s event. People speculated about new contestants, forwarding rumors and pure guesses, or discussed previous Newbies Nights, trying to draw some conclusions that might help them place their bets, even though they didn’t know the full roster yet. Some were also talking about earlier contests, exchanging opinions or outright arguing about the superiority of their favorites. Loki noticed, though, that there was a certain consensus: the current Grand Champion, someone called the Green Scar, was the best gladiator to grace the arena with his presence in a long time, and everyone could not wait for his next fight.

In one of these discussions, Loki heard about the Grandmaster for the first time.

He did not inquire directly, but the pieces of information were enough to paint a clear enough picture. That Grandmaster person was apparently the one overseeing the Contest of Champions—as the locals referred to the fights in the arena—the actual owner of most of the contestants, always present at every single event, more or less the absolute ruler of the whole planet, and, if Loki was to believe one semi-drunk braggart talking to a group of jealous listeners, a host of many a great party, which were not that easy to get into.

Loki didn’t have to ask to guess where the man dwelled.

The tower—the _palace,_ as people actually referred to it—kept catching his eye through the day, and even though he purposely chose to go _anywhere_ but there, he couldn’t help but notice he was getting closer to it, as if fate itself was pushing him this way. Eventually it pushed him close enough to see a guarded entrance to the palace, where quite a crowd had gathered.

Considering where fate had pushed him before, maybe it wasn’t a good sign. But then, he would never know if he turned back. And if he was so close now… well, maybe he shouldn’t force himself to avoid it anymore.

At first, Loki watched the entrance from afar. The gate was open and the guards were actually letting people in after a quick check. Most of those entering were carrying goods—he could see baskets of food, bundles of expensive-looking clothes, and boxes of parts among other things. Some people came empty-handed and some of them were actually let through, while others were sent away. A side-entrance for servants, traders, and the like, then. Perhaps it was actually for the better. As nice as it would be to go straight for the top, sometimes one could find more interesting things at the bottom—things like secrets. A potentially valuable asset in dealing with an absolute ruler.

The thought made Loki pause for a moment. In the morning he’d been barely thinking about settling down making himself comfortable, and now he was… maybe not exactly planning a coup yet, but definitely on a path that could lead there.

That escalated rather quickly.

Loki shrugged it off. Right now, his objective was quick infiltration, nothing more. He’d decide what to do with what he found out later. He probably wouldn’t be overthrowing anyone too soon.

Although he had to admit that being an absolute ruler had a nice ring to it. And he was pretty sure he wouldn’t make a bad ruler either. He’d done quite a decent job on Asgard after all.

He flexed his fingers, checking his magic. Almost whole. Good enough for what he had in mind.

Loki walked a bit closer, not too worried about looking suspicious—there were many others gazing at the palace, some of them pointing at it and talking about its features, mostly the giant faces adorning the sides of the building. Loki had noticed some of them back on his way to the city, but from where he stood now, they were hardly recognizable. Loki looked up at them as well, but with little care. He reached out with his magic towards the gate, feeling for any kind of resistance or interference, and when he was sure there was nothing, he backtracked into a nearby side alley.

When stepped out of the shadows, he was wearing an illusion of a tall, dark-skinned lady, wearing an elaborate dress and hairstyle, carrying his spare outfits in his arms—also laced with illusions, to make them look more colorful and shiny. Looking at all the other people who brought clothes into the palace, Loki thought he did a rather good job at trying to pass as one of them.

“Greetings,” he said as he approached the guards at the gate, altering his voice to sound more feminine, and bowed his head slightly. “I am Shalya Nel, seamstress. I was told I could try selling my wares in the palace.”

“Then get an appointment with Arga first and come next week,” one of the guards replied, checking something in his data pad. “Because I don’t see you on the list.”

“What?” Loki put a worried note in his voice, glancing at the screen . “It’s impossible, I made an appointment a few days ago—”

“According to this, you didn’t.”

“No, it must be a mistake!” Loki insisted, waving his hand in what he meant to be perceived as a nervous gesture, a small spell leaving his fingers. “Look again. My name has to be here.”

“I’m telling you, you’re not—”

“Look _again._ ” He shot the guard a murderous look.

“Fine, fine,” the guard grumbled, “here I am, looking, and as I said, you—” He paused abruptly. “Huh. Okay. Weird.”

Loki smirked triumphantly. _It worked._ “Yes? What is so weird? Perhaps you _found_ my name after all?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” The guard sounded both confused and embarrassed. “My bad, I guess?” He stepped to the side. “Please, come in. Take one of the elevators on the right, floor forty-two. ”

Loki snorted with contempt. “If it happens again, I am making an official complaint to your superiors,” he hissed and moved on, masking his quickening pace as a result of Shalya Nel’s anger. The illusion he’d placed on the data pad wouldn’t last long, and while hopefully the guard wouldn’t bother to check it again, Loki preferred to be out of sight by then.

He found himself in a tall, long corridor, filled with light even though he could see no windows. On both sides, there were doors and elevators, and people moved around in various stages of hurry, either eager to deliver their goods, or already leaving. There were several guards around, but most of them seemed quite relaxed, talking among themselves, or even with some of the visitors.

Loki looked around and walked over to the nearest elevator that no one else seemed interested in. Not waiting for anyone to join him, he quickly hopped in and closed the door before choosing the lowest floor, marked as ‘minus seven.’

Making sure there were no surveillance devices in the elevator, he dissolved the illusion and stored his clothes back in his hold, instead turning himself invisible. He had considered doing that earlier, but trying to move through a crowd of people while cloaked was usually even more of a problem than going in simply disguised, for a number of reasons, getting accidentally crushed being just one of them, getting noticed and exposed because someone realized that the force pushing at them was suspiciously too tangible to be just thin air was another. It was much more useful when there was more space than people.

The elevator arrived at floor minus seven and Loki stepped out into a much smaller, much darker corridor than the one few floors above. And the moment he did, he almost gasped out loud, feeling a sudden shift in the energies in the air—no, not quite a shift. The energies seemed to _intensify_ here.

There were only four guards in the corridor, standing at the other end; they seemed to have been talking about something, only for their heads to snap towards the elevator as soon as they noticed its door open.

They rushed in to investigate. Loki passed by them, unnoticed, as they wondered if the elevator was perhaps broken and if it had something to do with a certain incident involving a mechanical flying dog and high-octane Kree fuel from a week ago. Either way, they decided to report it, but not before examining it.

Meanwhile, Loki walked towards the other end. He noticed a couple of doors and something that looked like a hole in the floor at the end of the corridor, leading down. Whatever was causing this change in intensity, was below him and it had to be _incredibly_ powerful.

He walked up to the hole and realized it was in fact a spiral staircase, going an awful long way down with no railing at all.

It looked very inviting.

But he didn’t go straight there, not just yet. He glanced at the guards and, just to make sure they would be occupied for a while longer, with a quick move of his hand made the elevator lights flicker wildly. While the guards started shouting in confusion, Loki cast a quick illusion on the spot he was standing at and anchored it. He then went through one of the door and locked it with a spell for good measure.

Finding himself in an even darker room, filled with some mechanical devices the use of he couldn’t even guess, he sat on the floor and removed the invisibility spell. He should not be here. Which was _good,_ in a way, because that meant he definitely was on the trail of something interesting, but going further, either in disguise or invisible, could be dangerous in the long run. He didn’t know how what or who awaited him down there and he’d rather not risk getting apprehended or otherwise incapacitated. Hiding in a safe spot and phantomwalking seemed like a better option.

Phantomwalking, however, had its own disadvantages—like how the illusion he’d imbue with his consciousness had to be a splitting image of his physical self, with no alterations at all, which meant that while he wouldn’t get caught in the act, they could still see his face if he didn’t manage to hide.

It was a good thing, then, that he had an idea how to deal with that. Although he didn’t like it.

He had never done it willingly, but he more or less knew how—he remembered how it had felt each time and he could recreate the process from that. And since it would actually change him physically, his illusion would take this exact shape as well. Admittedly not _too_ different from what he looked like now, but different enough not to be anyone’s first guess once he changed back.

Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Magic flowed through his body, but this time it didn’t shroud him in a false image. Instead, it seemed to scrape at his skin, bringing forth a wave of familiar cold washing all over him. At it settled in, his body seemed to welcome it—but his mind still found it _wrong,_ even though he knew it should not longer matter, especially not here.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, wincing at his success. His skin was blue, covered with the raised lines of Jotun markings.

Even though he had just shapeshifted, he couldn’t wait to change back. It seemed it would still take him some time to accept his other skin—his _true_ skin.

Loki pushed back the discomfort and focused back on his task. He closed his eyes again, concentrating on his newly changed body and creating a template with his magic—and then he _pushed_ it outside.

A mere second later he was seeing through his illusionary double’s eyes, looking down at his real self sitting on the floor. He almost winced again, seeing his Jotun form in full, and quickly turned towards the door. Judging by the sounds, the guards mostly went from shouting to making angry noises or begging the elevator to stop going crazy on their watch.

Loki phased through the door. He couldn’t do that indefinitely, though; every time the illusion passed through a solid object, it would lose some substance and eventually become too flimsy to maintain the connection. He glanced at the guards; only one was actually facing him, but still didn’t see him thanks to the illusion Loki had put there earlier. For the next few minutes, all they would see was just the empty end of the corridor, even if Loki kept standing there for the whole time.

Which he didn’t. He went down the stairs slowly and carefully. He couldn’t feel it, his body being somewhere else, but he could bet the anomalous energy spike only grew stronger the lower he descended. At first, he could hear the guards above resume their idle talk, but eventually their voices died down and there was complete silence. One of the perks of phantomwalking was that he would make absolutely no sound unless he wanted to, and so he could only focus on not being seen. Not that there appeared to be anyone to hide from at the moment.

After what seemed like half an hour, he finally reached the bottom, finding himself in yet another corridor. This one seemed to be vaguely circular in shape and when he walked along it a bit, he stumbled upon another staircase, and another, and another…

He passed by six of them before he finally found a door leading to the round chamber surrounded by the corridor—a heavy, metal door with multiple locks and two control panels on each side of it.

The source of that mysterious power was right behind it, Loki could feel it. That it was guarded with such an impressive and probably nigh-impenetrable door did not surprise him in the slightest. But the fact that it was ajar did.

Almost at the same moment, Loki heard a deep voice coming from the other side.

“So there. Now you know why it’s not going to be that easy.”

Carefully, Loki peeked through the gap. He managed to catch a tall silhouette, armored like the rest of the guards, but not wearing a helmet, standing in front of a forcefield.

And behind the forcefield was the object Loki _knew_ was what he was looking for.

He didn’t exactly know _what exactly_ it was, however. From what he could see, it looked like a large golden orb suspended in mid-air with three branches bent upwards, flattened at the end. Over each branch floated a smaller orb, roughly the size of a grown man’s head, pulsing slowly with violet light.

“Not to mention you _will_ need some container,” the deep-voiced armored man continued. “It’s not something you can just put in your bag.”

“I’m working on it, you know,” a new, slightly nervous voice replied, somewhere to the right of the armored man. Loki couldn’t see who was talking, but the other man surely sounded less imposing than his companion. “But yes, this kind of forcefield can be… a problem.”

“ _Everything_ about this is a problem. And since you came aboard, they seem to multiply instead of lessening.”

“They don’t _multiply,_ Angmo, you just didn’t see them before. For example, you barely even considered the logistics of such a task—”

“Spare me the lecture. Logistics is _yours_ to take care of.”

“Yeah, of course, just tell me to do everything and then complain about problems you don’t have to solve!” Someone rather short quickly moved from right to left, waving his arms in frustration and disappearing from Loki’s line of sight before he could see the man’s face. When he next spoke, however, he seemed to be standing much closer. “Damn, I wish I could fire you, I really do.”

The man called Angmo turned and Loki stepped away from the door. He decided to stick to listening for now, ready to dispel the illusion in case they saw him.

“Keep dreaming. You will not find anyone else both willing to work with you _and_ having access to the Tri-Sphere.”

There was a pause, and then the other man said, “Unless I pull some strings and inform the Grandmaster that your loyalty is… _questionable._ ”

“He trusts me,” Angmo growled.

“Well, he trusts me too. And out of us two, who hangs around him more often? Who he considers his _friend,_ hm? I’m sure he wouldn’t ignore my opinion, and then who knows, he might think someone else would guard his precious trinket better—”

“You _dare?!_ ” Angmo shouted and there was a sound of metal hitting something hard. “I could kill you for that _right now,_ you pesky little—”

“B-but you won’t.” The other man clearly tried to sound confident, but only partially succeeded. “You won’t, and you won’t sell me out to the Grandmaster either, because you’d lose your only ally out here. And who knows if you would ever manage to find anyone else? Just how long did you wait before I came, huh?”

A moment of tense silence followed, suddenly broken by Angmo’s frustrated roar—and as the door swung wide open, an angry red-skinned man clad in armor, wielding a sword that seemed too large to be practical, left the central room.

Startled, Loki dispelled the illusion a second too late—enough for Angmo’s eyes to fall on him, his eyebrows rising in shock.

_Oh. Oh shit._

The next moment, Loki was back in the room upstairs. He slumped against the wall, breathing deeply, hear hammering in his chest, and then changed back into his Asgardian skin, the cold blue giving to pale pink as his body temperature rose. Now _that_ felt right, and even helped to alleviate the sensation of failure a little.

But was it _really_ a failure? Sure, one of them had seen him, but only for a split second, and if anything, they would look for some elusive blue-skinned man, while he continued to walk around in his Asgardian form—and it would lead them nowhere. It was a pretty low price to pay for learning of their little secret—that this Angmo and his partner in crime were both clearly involved in something the Grandmaster wouldn’t approve of.

Loki smirked. He had his valuable asset now. And he could think of several ways of using it to his advantage. But to choose one, he still needed to know more.

He glanced at the wrist-worn timepiece he’d acquired earlier that day. Ten minutes to seventeen.

Maybe he would join Chimei this evening after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fun facts ahead!
> 
> FF#1: the "hold" thing is a concept - or rather the name of a concept - I came up in another fic (not to be found here or anywhere; long story). I've seen it being referred to as "pocket dimension" or "negative space" or something like that, but for some reason I wanted to go with something shorter, probably because I figured it was something natural and ordinary not just for Loki but many other Asgardians as well, and they'd have a simplier name for that. Not that I think the names I mentioned are bad! Just taking a slightly different approach here.
> 
> FF#2: [The Green Scar](http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Bruce_Banner_\(Earth-616\)#Incarnations) is a thing I lifted from the comics - long story short, it's one of the different versions of the Hulk, one that emerged on Sakaar. While it actually came with some different characterization than the "usual" Hulk, I'm using it mostly as a nickname here - basically so that I can refer to the Hulk without actually naming him. For obvious reasons.
> 
> FF#3: Angmo is [not quite an original character](http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Angmo-Asan_\(Earth-616\)). But he also has very little in common with his comic book counterpart here.
> 
> FF#4: Why yes, the [Tri-Sphere](http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Grandmasters_Tri-Sphere) is a comic thing too. And I shall be slightly altering things about it as well.
> 
> FF#5: I... haven't actually read those comics. But hey, I still did some research!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I will be starting every chapter with an apology, won't I. *headdesk*
> 
> SORRY. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm SO SORRY. One would think that such a short chapter should take me less time. One would be wrong. I certainly didn't plan for the breaks between chapters to get increasingly longer - especially THAT LONG - but ugh. I could go on listing excuses, but you know what, I'm not going to. I messed up and I'm sorry. I'm not proud of myself here and I deserve a solid kick.
> 
> I should probably warn you that the next chapters will also take me quite a while to finish (there definitely won't be another one before Infinity War *insert excited and worried noises here* comes out). I'm so sorry once again. I'm trying. Or I'm trying to try.
> 
> Anyway, the chapter. Hopefully it doesn't feel too fillery...
> 
> And beware of awful puns.

“You’re gonna love it,” Chimei said cheerfully, adjusting the bag she carried on her shoulder. “I think so. Maybe. I guess. I told Jo he’d love it, but he didn’t. But anyway, thanks for coming with me!”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Loki replied with a smile. In truth, the pleasure was all hers. For him, it was more of a research.

Getting out of the palace had been actually easier than getting in, now that he knew what to expect. He turned invisible again and distracted the guards with an illusionary swarm of wasps, giving him enough time to open the door and slip into the elevator unnoticed. He then disguised himself as Shalya the seamstress once more, and left, even managing to give the guard by the gate yet another angry look.

The escapade had not come without a cost, however. He hadn’t phantomwalked in quite a while, especially after shapeshifting, and it left him rather tired, no doubt also in part because he wasn’t patient enough for waiting for his magic to recover. Or perhaps the walk down the stairs had taken him more than just half an hour. Or perhaps both. Either way, the whole stunt seemed rather reckless in hindsight. But Loki didn’t regret pulling it off at all.

When Loki had arrived back at Chimei’s bar, it was empty, save for Bruca, still in their spot with their milkshake. Loki found Chimei in the kitchen, reciting a list of things to take care of for Jolmendarianskeezzaflothpole and assuring him that she’d be back before midnight. When she saw Loki, she smiled. Her husband only frowned.

“By the way, Chimei,” Loki said as they were making their way to the arena, together with what looked like half of the city’s population, “I probably should ask… is…” He tried to remember the name, but ultimately gave up. “Is your husband okay with me accompanying you? He does not seem to like me much.”

“Eh, don’t sweat it.” Chimei waved her hand dismissively. “Told you, that’s just the way it is. Not exactly the most outgoing person out here. But if he really disliked you, you’d be missing an arm or two. Possibly a head.”

“I shall remember not to get on his bad side.”

“That would probably be smart, yeah. For both of you. And my bar. Hey, speaking of my bar, how about Commendable Concoctions?”

“Uh… No.”

Chimei let out a frustrated sigh, followed by a growl. “One day, dang it, one day.”

Eventually, they reached the arena—a massive bowl-shaped structure located not far from the Grandmaster’s palace. And it seemed like the other half of Sakaar had already arrived there, rushing to get in through the many entrances.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” There was a hint of pride in Chimei’s voice.

“Quite.” Loki looked up at the tall, slightly curved wall rising in front of them, shining with a metallic sheen in the fading sunlight. There was, however, little embellishment on the walls save for a few banners promoting tonight’s event and the lights over entrances, illuminating their respective numbers. Compared to the rest of the colorful city, it looked rather bland, if still imposing.

“Do we need to buy tickets? Or do you already have them?” Loki asked as they approached entrance 15-Theta.

“Oh, we don’t need tickets,” Chimei said. “The admission is free.”

“Free?” Loki looked around at the crowd. “Somebody is wasting quite an opportunity to earn a lot of money here.”

“Well, it’s not like I know for certain, but I guess the Grandmaster gets his money elsewhere. He’s got plenty of other ways, given that he basically owns the whole planet—you know who the Grandmaster is?”

“I’ve known since today’s noon, approximately. And… he will be here as well, yes?”

Chimei rolled her eyes. “ _Duh._ You might as well ask me if harrowbeasts have teeth.”

“…And do they?”

“Way too many than I’d like them to have. You can hardly have an event without its host present.”

Loki smiled at the confirmation. It was probably too much to wish for a chance to actually get close to the man during the event, but a chance for some observation was good enough. He had learned a lot about certain people just by looking at them and he supposed it wouldn’t be much different with the Grandmaster. People in power were usually very easy to read—and the more power they had, the easier it was.

Loki and Chimei finally got through the entrance and found themselves in a neon-lit passage with numerous flights of stairs leading upwards, full of people making their way up in a more or less rough manner. There was a lot yelping, cursing, complaining, and promising some bodily harm later, but surprisingly, nobody had started a brawl yet, even at a couple of besieged elevators.

“This way.” Chimei grabbed Loki’s wrist and before he could tell her she was getting a little too friendly, she led him up the stairs, plowing through people like a small battering ram. Seeing her effectiveness, he decided not to complain.

“The crowd’s not that bad tonight, honestly.” Chimei had to raise her voice for Loki to hear her among the noise. “Probably because of that Birjan scabies epidemic from two weeks ago. Some people are still recovering, but I bet it didn’t stop all of them anyway.”

All of the sudden, Loki wanted to scratch himself. “I tremble at the thought of a bigger crowd, then.”

“You can get used to it. Or you can just come hours early to pick a spot, but that’s much less exciting. Getting through is part of the fun! It just feels so rewarding when you finally get to your spot…”

“If you say so…” Loki ducked to avoid crashing into someone’s broad antlers. He could do without having that much fun in his life.

But he had to endure some more fun and excitement before they reached their sector, which was already filling up, but still had some space available—including, to Chimei’s delight, a couple of seats in the front row.

“Yes!” She slapped the metal barrier in front of them as they got there. “My favorite spot! Not too high, not too low, at least for me. I’ve even scratched my initials on the rail, right here. What do you think of the view, Loki? Hm?”

Loki didn’t respond at first, the enormity of the place hitting him with a new force. His thoughts drifted back to several travels to Nidavellir, most for diplomatic purposes, where he’d had the honor to visit the Saga Cavern of Eldurhellir. The dwarves, being dwarves, had carved out in stone a truly monumental place to perform their plays telling epic stories that almost always involved more smithing than battle for the vast crowds to enjoy—or sit through and try hard not to sleep, as many a non-dwarf spectator did—but this arena seemed to have _even more_ capacity. As big as it had seem from the outside, somehow it appeared even greater now, with thousands and thousands of people filling the numerous sectors below and above and all around him, looking like a huge collection of multicolored pins in a round container. And there was still some place for more pins left, mostly in the upper sectors.

It all made Loki feel very small. It wasn’t a good feeling.

A nudge roused him from his thoughts. He looked down at Chimei, her brow creased.

“You weren’t listening.” She sounded a little annoyed.

“I’m sorry, I was just—never mind.” He sat down next to her, glancing over the red-and-white stage, which remained empty at the moment, and noticed something interesting almost exactly on the opposite side of the arena.

One sector stood out, smaller than the others, but more brightly lit and definitely less crowded. It appeared to be behind a screen of glass or something similar, and there were no rows, just what looked like a wide couch. Loki could bet this was where he should keep his eye on. It was, however, a pity he was sitting too far way to spot any details, and judging by the still growing crowds, he had little to no chance of getting closer. He could try to probe the place with magic if he was careful, although at such a distance it might not yield any results—

“You’re squinting,” Chimei said. “Is this too high for you?”

“No, not really,” he responded, his eyes still on the closed-off lounge. “Just looking around.”

“You want this, perhaps?”

Loki looked at her as saw that she was offering him a pair of old-fashioned binoculars.

 “Yes, thank you!” He smiled, taking the binoculars from her.

“I always take them with me.” Chimei unpacked another pair from her bag. “It’s a nice view up here, but not good for close ups, if you want to see any.”

“It’ll be of great help, I cannot thank you enough.” He adjusted the focus and zoomed in on the booth behind the glass, only to jump in his seat when a glow filled his field of vision and a loud voice boomed from basically _everywhere_ in the arena.

“Welcome, welcome! Nice seeing you all here again!”

Loki lowered the binoculars. There was an enormous holographic projection of a man standing in the middle of the arena. His flowing golden robes with splashes of red and blue seemed extravagant even for a Sakaaran, and his wide smile and the gleam in his eyes, so evident even in the hologram form, made him look outright giddy. His oddly-combed hair was grey like smoke, and time had carved some rather subtle lines on his face, but it was somehow difficult to pinpoint his age.

“We’ve got quite a few interesting newcomers for you tonight!” The hologram man rubbed his hands together. “Man, beast, man-beasts, and more, my oh my! But, oh, I shall not spoil the surprise, it’s better to be seen. Let the show begin and welcome the new contestants!”

The hologram dissipated and the crowd cheered. There was a grinding rumbling sound and Loki noticed a door opening on the left side of the arena.

“Our first one is, as they say it, ‘fresh off the heap,’” a disembodied voice announced, and Loki immediately recognized it as belonging to the hologram man. “Literally, he arrived just two hours ago, just in time to entertain us all. We hardly know him, but he showed himself to be quite fierce and even though we had a complete roster already I just _had_ to squeeze him in, our brave, not-so-little fighter. He’s lovely, really. Please welcome Morug the Smasher!”

Something bulky emerged into the arena, roaring loudly enough for Loki to hear it quite clearly. Out of curiosity, he looked through the binoculars and discovered that the bulky thing was a bulky man dressed in armor apparently made of scrap metal, brandishing a spiky mace in each hand. The audience applauded, some even chanted Morug’s name.

“Niiiice,” Loki heard Chimei say. “My money’s is on him. Or would be, if I bet any money.”

“Now, for our other fighter…” The voice continued as the door on the opposite side opened. “This one is a rare sight in our humble arena, and he’s all _fired up_ to fight. I’m sure you’ll _warm up_ to him really quickly, even though he’s a bit of a _hothead._ Dear all, I give you Ig-Knight!”

A lithe, charcoal-black figure stepped out slowly, his head bald, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. Some people applauded the contestant awkwardly, but the audience was mostly silent. Loki just barely thought that the battle would be a quick one when Ig-Knight spread out his arms, his whole skin literally bursting into flames. The audience went wild, cheering for the fiery warrior, and Loki resisted the urge to cover his ears.

“Wow!” Chimei shouted excitedly beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be awesome!”

The voice of the holographic man chuckled. “You see, he’s a warrior, so he’s a knight, and he’s on fire, so _Ig-Knight,_ get it?”

The last syllable was still in the air when Morug charged at his opponent. Ig-Knight jumped to his right, using his flames to propel himself further. The fire enveloping his hands grew larger and he rushed at Morug, aiming at his side. Too swift for Morug to dodge, Ig-Knight blow hit its target, leaving a burn mark in the metal armor, although it didn’t yet get through is completely.

Loki had to admit that he was mildly curious about who would win the fight, but reminded himself that wasn’t why he’d come here. He turned his sight back to the booth, noticing quite a few people inside. From the way they dressed and carried themselves, some looked like a part of the wealthy elite of this planet. Some were obviously servants with artificial expressions, offering them food or drinks. Four were guards in full armor, standing almost completely still at their designated posts. One was… maybe a guard as well, given that she didn’t mingle with anyone and just stood there in the entryway looking almost bored, wearing a different kind of armor and no helmet at all. However, the people Loki deemed to be of highest interest were seated on the couch.

The very fact that more people could easily fit on the couch and yet it was only taken by _two_ of them was enough to surmise that it was the spot for the most privileged. One of them was a small fidgeting bald man in the most hideously patterned suit Loki has ever seen, and with a face that had something vaguely amphibian about it. The other one, sitting slightly further, was the holographic man in the flesh.

Between those two, it was rather obvious which one _wasn’t_ the man Loki was looking for. The bald man was too unassuming, too insignificant, too _squishy_. Not to mention he had absolutely no sense of style. Such a person could not be a ruler in any place, let alone Sakaar—that was someone who enjoyed the warm glow of the spotlight, but preferred to stay at the edge or else it would burn him. Whereas the other man… the other man was something else entirely.

Perhaps he wouldn’t be Loki’s first guess if he had more options to choose from. Sure, he looked all rich and glamorous and, in his own way, majestic, as someone ruling Sakaar should, but Loki expected someone more… foreboding, more awe-inspiring. Not someone who just projected a 60-feet-tall version of himself just to say hi to his subjects and then proceeded to make painful puns. If that was the Grandmaster, the _absolute ruler_ of this entire world, surely there was more to it that his cheery façade.

Although that bit Loki had heard about the parties seemed to fit now.

Suddenly the audience erupted in a collective deafening shout and Loki almost dropped the binoculars when an arm wrapped around his shoulder. He was ready to defend himself, when he noticed it was just Chimei.

“That was _neat!_ ” She exclaimed, pulling him close and giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Dang, that Ig-Knight is so cool—oh dang it. You know what I mean.”

“Y-yes, that was indeed—” Loki looked at the arena; he was so focused on the Grandmaster he almost forgot what was going on down there. Morug was lying flat on his back with several burn marks on his armor and two holes in his chest, while Ig-Knight basked in the adoration of the spectators, his arms outstretched in a triumphant gesture. “Ow. Looks painful.”

“And here we have tonight’s first winner!” The voice of the holographic man—the _Grandmaster_ —announced, but no projection appeared this time. “Congrats, congrats, he deserves that, don’t you think? Great fight, really! See you later, Ig-Knight, hope that wasn’t your last victory! I’d certainly love to see more of him, don’t you all agree?”

“Oh, dang, yeah.” Chimei nodded, grinning ear to ear. “He’s not exactly my type, but he’s pretty spectacular, I’ll give him that.”

“And what’s your type, if I might ask?” Loki asked, more as a courtesy rather than out of genuine interest; down in the arena, Ig-Knight, no longer on fire, was heading towards his gate, while several people dragged away Morug’s corpse. Loki raised the binoculars and returned to his task of observing the Grandmaster.

“To be honest, Morug was,” Chimei said. “You know, tall, with muscles and stuff. A sight to behold if you ask me. Although he’s got nothing on the Grand Champion, I don’t know if you heard about—”

“I might have heard a word or two,” Loki answered. On the other side of the arena, the Grandmaster and his companion were talking, both of them in a fine mood, but the latter appeared rather subdued compared to the former. Although Loki had to admit that compared to the Grandmaster, with his highly expressive face and gestures, probably anyone would appear subdued.

“You should see him one day,” Chimei went on, “that’s a whole new level of—”

“Round two!” the Grandmaster exclaimed, and Loki saw him speaking to some kind of device to amplify his voice. “But if you’re expecting another duel, well, you’re in for a surprise! Here comes Fluffball!”

“Huh.” Chimei sounded skeptical. “That doesn’t very— _whoah!_ ”

Loki forced himself to look at the new creature in the arena. It resembled a giant, bright orange ram, only that it had six legs, a forked tail, and a foaming mouth full of pointy teeth. The sound it made also didn’t sound much like a bleat, more like a screech, so loud and shrill it was almost painful to hear.

On second thought, it barely resembled a ram at all, save for the horns.

“This is… Actually, I have no idea what this is,” the Grandmaster said. “But it’s angry. And probably hungry. Its caretakers didn’t feed it for three days—it ate them on day one and hasn’t eaten anything even since. But it only made it more ferocious, so hey, good for us!”

“I’ve never seen anything like that.” Chimei said, clearly impressed. “And I have seen some weird stuff. Have you?”

“Not really, no,” Loki, who was sure he’d seen much weirder stuff, replied and his attention went back to the Grandmaster, who continued with the commentary.

“Now then, time for the contestants who will face our Fluffball! A big round of applause for Duskblade and Glitter!”

Loki heard Chimei’s excited yelling as the gladiators appeared in the arena, but this time he didn’t bother with looking. In the lounge, the Grandmaster seemed completely focused on the fight, his  excitement rising visibly more or less in sync with the audience’s shouts and Fluffball’s screeches. During the fight, he barely glanced at his companion or the servant that brought him a drink at one point, and didn’t seem to speak too much—Loki couldn’t hear him, but he could bet he was mostly just making similar comments to Chimei’s beside him.

“Yes! Yes! _No!_ Ouch, that was a close one!” Chimei kept shouting. “Wow, she’s good—go for the eyes! _The eyes!_ Other end! Dang, watch out for the tail!”

Eventually, the fight ended to the particularly loud and high-pitched sound Fluffball made as it was finally slain, again driving the audience into a frenzy. At least this time Chimei didn’t throw herself at Loki but simply yelled praise for the victorious contestant, Duskblade. Meanwhile, the Grandmaster smiled with satisfaction, slowly clapping his hands and standing up.

“And we have another winner!” he said, holding up the device. “Great job, Duskblade, great job, I think you surprised us here. And that finishing move, oh! Fabulous, simply fabulous. Can’t wait to see you stick your sword in some more bodies!”

He then sat back down and engaged the man in the ugly suit again. Loki huffed with frustration, unable to hear them, but given how both of them gestured at the arena, the topic was rather obvious. One of the other guests in the longue used the intermission to chime in, behaving a little bit too drunk and a little bit too casually than one should in the presence of someone powerful, but walked away after a very brief exchange, which nevertheless left the Grandmaster in a good mood, judging by an even wider grin blossoming on his face.

If that continued, Loki suspected that he wouldn’t learn much more tonight than just more aspects of the Grandmaster’s shiny shell—for it _had_ to be a shell. No one this cheery and seemingly amicable could possibly keep their position in such a world for long.

The thought reminded him he had no idea how long the Grandmaster had been in charge and how he had come into power. Loki had a feeling it had probably been bloody, even if the Grandmaster didn’t strike him as someone violent. Maybe he’d been working in the shadows, biding his time until the right moment. At least that was more or less what Loki would do.

Right now, he was mostly considering two options. He could learn more about the conspiracy and join it, if it would bring him any closer to taking the Grandmaster’s place. Or he could reveal the conspiracy to the Grandmaster, thus getting into his good graces, and eventually overthrow him himself when he least expected it. But going straight to the Grandmaster and sharing the dire news wouldn’t be a smart move—if the conspirators were indeed his trusted underlings or acquaintances, there was little doubt whom the Grandmaster would be more inclined to believe. Especially without some solid proof. What he knew was certainly a shortcut, but he still had to travel down the scenic route for a bit before he could use it.

It inevitably led to the third option, possibly the trickiest one—but, if played right, also the most rewarding.

Loki smirked at the thought. He always liked playing both sides.

 

* * *

 

“So, how did you like it?” Chimei asked.

All in all, that had been quite a show. By the time the fights ended, the arena featured at least a dozen of other gladiators, a pack of giant crab-like critters, a robot, and a singing tree, which was also carnivorous, surprisingly agile, and extremely deadly.

Loki, however, had paid very little attention to it. After the defeat of Fluffball, he didn’t even catch the names of the contestants, concentrating on the Grandmaster’s lounge. When he decided he wouldn’t learn anything new form observing the Grandmaster, he switched to watching the other occupants, examining their behavior around the most powerful person on this world, and, to his mild surprise, finding no real pattern. It would appear that the Grandmaster liked a diverse company. All the better, as far as Loki was concerned.

“It was… peculiar,” Loki said after a moment of hesitation. They were on their way back to Chimei’s place. It was past twenty-two, which, according to Loki’s new timepiece, was this world’s midnight. The later fights took significantly longer than the first two, especially the one featuring the killer tree.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it. But you see, it’s different every time. You may think you’ve seen it all already when _bam!_  Something even better happens.”

“Still… I am not quite sure it’s to my taste,” Loki admitted, trying to sound as inoffensive and diplomatic as he could. “This is not exactly the kind of entertainment I am used to.”

Chimei looked at him, slightly disappointed. “Oh. Oh, well. That’d put you in the minority. But you know, I think you should give it another try.”

 _I don’t think so,_ Loki thought. As an another exercise in observation, maybe, but he’d rather move on beyond that. He doubted he could gather more information this way than he already had.

“I may,” he said out loud.

“You should absolutely see the Grand Champion.” Loki noticed a gleam in Chimei’s eyes as she said that. “This might change your mind. He’s called the Green Scar, but I think he prefers going by—”

“And what’s so special about him?” In Loki’s opinion, it would be hard to top the killer tree, or even Ig-Knight, or one contestant whose name escaped him, fighting using mostly her prehensile hair, and even that hand't held his interest long enough to make him stop spying on the Grandmaster.

“He’s absolutely dang _awesome!_ ” Chimei couldn’t contain the glee in her voice. “He’s the ultimate badass! He’s had the title for about five years, and so far no one could defeat him! It’s a pity, though, that he doesn’t fight as much as he used to. It’s getting harder to find him opponents that wouldn’t get instantly crushed. He even managed to defeat a Tsorcherhian spineldrake in five minutes.”

Loki had no idea what a Tsorcherhian spineldrake was, but Chimei’s expression and the almost reverent tone of her voice told him enough to regard the feat as impressive. “Really? Does he wield some extraordinary powers?”

“No, not really… He’s just really, really strong.”

Now that sounded slightly less impressive. On the other hand, if someone’s strengths was enough to battle even the most fearsome of creatures, it had to be truly immense. “Huh. What’s does he look like? Where is he from?”

“He’s… uh… big. Big and green.”

 _Big and green._ Loki could think of several species that fit the description, including a certain human he’d rather not meet ever again—but then, he doubted even he was unlucky enough to encounter the Hulk at the other side of the universe.

“As for where he’s from…” Chimei continued. “No idea. One day he just was here and defeated the previous Champion.”

“Did he volunteer?”

“I don’t know. Most gladiators aren’t volunteers, they’re usually brought by the scrappers. Although he seems to like his job, so who knows.”

“Speaking of which… You do realize you could be sitting there watching _me_ fight if I got caught?”

“Hey, but you _didn’t_ get caught. And given that you managed to get through the Wastes, I think you’d do fine in the arena. I’d sure cheer for you.”

That was probably the most unsettling compliment anyone had ever told him.

“That’s… nice,” he said after a moment of deliberation. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Chimei smiled at him.

They reached Chimei’s place. Even though it was already closed for business, Bruca was still here, about halfway done with their milkshake.

“You want something to eat?” Chimei asked Loki as they entered and walked into the kitchen. “I crave some midnight snack, so I might as well get you something.” She opened the nearest cupboard, eyeing the contents.

“No, thank you,” Loki replied, his hand on the door leading to the staircase. “But before I go…” He hesitated, wondering if it was perhaps  too risky to be that straightforward. But then, he’d seen people talk about it earlier in the city without any care for secrecy, so he supposed he shouldn’t worry too much about that. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure! I think. Depends.” Chimei took a pack of crackers out of the cupboard. What’s the matter?”

“Suppose I wanted to… have a chat with the Grandmaster.”

Chimei blinked, then cocked her head, her smile fading a little. “Ah.”

“Ah?” Loki repeated after a moment of silence.

“It explains why you seemed more focused on something else than the contest.” She shrugged. “I think what was happening below was more interesting, but whatever, to each their own. But in truth…” She opened the pack and started eating. “I would rather suggest staying away.”

Intrigued, Loki raised his brow. “And why is that?”

“Well, how to say it…” She offered the crackers to Loki; he took one out of courtesy. It was pleasantly spicy. “Getting close to the Grandmaster may be bad for your lifespan. The circle of his friends tends to change its roster quite often. Not many stay for long, for a number of reasons. Dang, I’m not even sure what all of them are.”

Loki smirked. “I like a challenge.”

“I think you’d have better chances in the arena, but hey, your choice. Although I’m afraid I can’t help you much. It was always good enough for me here. I never tried to climb any higher. But…” Chimei nibbled on a cracker, thinking. “You could ask Scrapper 142. If she’s willing to talk, that is.”

“Who?”

“One of the Grandmaster’s favorite people around here. She’s been in his good graces for ages, so if you want some trade secrets, you should see her. Especially that I don’t think anyone else of the Grandmaster’s coterie leaves the palace at this point. She looks a bit like you, species-wise. Not so tall, with long, dark hair, skinny. Usually wears some dark armory outfit. And is pretty much always drunk.”

“And where can I find her?” Loki asked. The description was not too elaborate, but that was a start. If he was thorough and persistent—and he always was when he was determined to achieve a goal—meeting her would be only a matter of time.

“Wherever they’re serving alcohol. Or out of the city sometimes, searching and hunting for stuff. But better sticks to the bars. Who knows, maybe she’ll even come here. She visited us a few times before. I’m still amazed she could walk out by herself after she was done drinking…"

Loki nodded. “I’ll bear that in mind. Thank you for your advice.”

“I still think you’d be better off if you didn’t follow it, though.”

Loki gave her a confident smile. “We shall see about that. Goodnight, Chimei.”

He was about to leave when Chimei called after him, “Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Loki turned to her, reaching into his pocket. “Yes, yes, alright. Payment’s up front.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But Badger," someone might say, "it's been two years since the Hulk arrived on Sakaar, not five!"  
> Yeah, but since time is a bit wibbly-wobbly on Sakaar, I figured it could have been a bit longer from their point of view.
> 
> Also, I don't really think that Scrapper 142 AKA the Valkyrie is skinny. But Chimei? Chimei does.


End file.
